


Two peas in a pod

by livia_bj



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 16:59:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12303528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livia_bj/pseuds/livia_bj
Summary: Collection of moments from London to New York.Mostly fluffy and cute :)





	Two peas in a pod

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nymeriahale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymeriahale/gifts).



> This is my first Fedal fic, I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> I’m also new in the fandom and in the Fedal world. I mean, not really new ‘cause I’ve been following those two for a long time, but never knew this kind of…. Thing existed before.
> 
> This said. Forgive my mistakes about hotel rooms, or gala references or… well, the background story in general. I’m learning. Baby steps.
> 
> Also, I’m not an English speaker but I had a wonderful beta helping me out.   
> Thanks a million to @nymeriahale :))
> 
> You can find my Tumblr here, you’ll be welcome to pay me a visit: http://black-isthecolour.tumblr.com/
> 
> So, okay, here we go.
> 
> ps) remember those pics of Roger practising in Wimbledon, or trying to practice, but really looking at Rafa from behind, right? ;) I love those.

“Stan, I need to ask you a favour.”

Wawrinka closed his eyes tightly and sighed. Thank God, from the other side of the phone, Roger could not see his tormented expression; he knew very well what was about to come. However, he was a good friend above all.

“Sure. Shoot.”

"I need you to... No." Roger corrected himself on the go. "Could you get a room under your name at the hotel, please?"

There was a silence on the other side of the line and Roger feared the worst; he was about to tell him to forget it, that he was sorry to bother him, when he heard his friend’s voice once again.

“Sure. You’ll pay me back when you win and I claim the favour back.”

“You should bet on yourself.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“Then maybe you should not bet on me.”

“Nonsense.”

“Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“No prob, man.”

Roger finished the call and held the phone to his chest. He hated asking such favours from his friend; it made him feel somehow dirty and despicable to make Stan have to lie for him, because he knew that his friend would never say _no_ to him. And frankly, he was taking advantage of it. But it was necessary, he told himself, this time there was a good reason to put Stan, and himself, in such a situation.

 

_London, one month later_

 

The new message alert sounded a couple of times. Some years ago, Roger had a specific alert for him, but he ended up deleting it because it became very evident the Pavlovian response that he developed over then, and that made him start drooling every time he heard that specific sound. Now he had the same alert for all his contacts. And yet, he knew who the sender of those incoming messages was. He picked up the phone, trying to make it seem casual.

 _Are you here?_ (and a long line of happy emoticons)

He typed quickly.

_Yes, but I can’t run away just now._

He waited for an answer.

_Listen, this stupid event is this afternoon. It’s not possible that we see each other only there. I won’t be able to keep myself from jumping on you and tearing off your clothes._

Roger felt his face turning red. To be honest, Rafa was right about that.

He thought the same; they hadn’t been close in so long that if the first time they got to see each other was in a public event, it was going to be nothing but torture. And who knew what could end up happening.

_Fine, wait for my instructions._

 

 _Ah,_ Rafa thought, _always so dramatic, Roger._

Roger loved getting all the attention, being in the middle of big events, displaying elegance and glamour. He was a village boy, after all, a man of simple tastes. Which, he had to admit, was ironic considering that he was wearing an 800.000 euro watch attached to his wrist. That was part of the job, like showing off your sponsors; but beneath all the façade, it was still him, the same Manacor boy he had always been.

He shook his head, not wanting to think about that in this moment. In the same way as he would swipe a fly with his hand, he blocked that thought and swiped it away from his mind. He turned the TV on, looking for some distraction, and waited. Half an hour later, still no word from Roger.  

He began to dress for the event, tempted to text him again, but he knew that there was certainly a good reason why Roger remained in silence, and texting him would not make things go faster.

 

……………….

Roger knew it was Stan before he opened the door, it was all part of the plan. However, he made a great performance of greeting his friend as if it was totally unexpected to find him there knocking at his door.  Wawrinka poked his head through the door and greeted the members of the team who were in the room, who returned the greeting without attempting to start any conversation about Roland Garros with him, which he was thankful for.

"I'll take him out now or he'll never finish putting his make-up on.”

"Hey!"

Roger attempted a protest, but he went out with Stan before anyone could ask if he would be back early. Once in the hallway, Stan quickly pressed a card into his hand.

"505/"

"Thank you. I could kiss you. "

"Eeek. Don’t even try. And hurry up, I won’t wait more than 15 minutes.”

"What do you mean?"

"Fuck, if we said we're going to this place together ... then we'll have to get there together."

"True," Roger looked at his watch. “Not that we have much more time anyway.”

He typed a message for Rafa from the elevator.

…………………

_Sorry, couldn’t escape before. Room 505_

Rafa frowned. Whose room was that? Well, there was no time for that now. He made his way there as fast as he could. Then he realized that he had no card to open the door, so he guessed he had to knock and hope that Roger was already there.

Suddenly, the thought of being with him once again made his stomach turn; not as something bad, but like… like that sensation that people describe as butterflies. Only that for him, it was more like a tsunami. He took a deep breath and knocked. He still had time to wonder if it would be weird to see each other again, if they would freeze not knowing what to say or what to do, or if…

The door opened.

And there was Roger.

And he could read in his face that he was feeling as nervous as Rafa was, and that he was wondering exactly those same things. That comforted him, and made him smile.

“Rogi…”

  
He barely had time to register what happened next.  Roger grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him inside with him. The next thing he knew was that Roger’s arms were around him, pulling him against his body. Rafa rested his face in the curve between his shoulder and his neck, and slid his arms around the Swiss.

They hugged each other tightly for a few minutes. Before speaking, before kissing.  They needed a moment to meet each other in peace, a moment to let the energy of their bodies flow freely, seeking their balance. Hearing their breaths in the silence; fast at first, and then, little by little, calmer and more serene. They needed to feel the warmth and the strength of their bodies, and to realize that it was no dream; after six months, they were together again.

After what seemed like an eternity for Rafa, Roger finally pulled away from him and held his face between his hands.

"I've missed you so much," he said losing himself in Rafa’s brown eyes; those eyes that, even in moments of calm like then, never ceased to shine with the heat and the defiance of the Mediterranean. Finally, he bent over Rafa and kissed him.

It was a very soft kiss at first, Roger's lips on his, and Rafa thought he wanted much more, so he opened his mouth, inviting him. The kiss deepened and their bodies pressed harder against each other, letting go all the tension after so many months of waiting. Then Rafa felt Roger begin to smile, so he ended the kiss and pulled away from him slightly.

“What?”

Roger rested his forehead against his, still smiling like a little boy.

"Nothing."

"What?" Rafa insisted, also starting to smile like a baby.

"Only that ... I'm kissing the greatest champion of Roland Garros.”

Rafa could not help but giggle.

"Well ... if that turns you on…”And he found his neck and bit him gently.

Roger sighed.

"We do not have time."

Rafa rolled his eyes.

"Later?" He asked hopefully.

"I don’t know," Roger said after a short silence. "I'll try."

It took them all their strength to untangle from each other, they fixed their outfits, smoothing the fabric.

“Let’s go together?”

“Stan is waiting for me.”

Rafa raised an eyebrow as a question.

“It’s not what you think. We are here now thanks to him.”

Rafa frowned, understanding.

“I don’t like to owe him.”

"Not you. Me. Anyway, after all he’s done for us, are you going to doubt him now?”

"No…”

Roger kissed him softly.

"Don’t worry. See you at the party. Okay? "

"Rogi!"

Rafa called him before he opened the door.

"Yes?"

"You know that in spite of everything; the distance, how things are…  In spite of everything, I love you, right?"

Roger smiled softly.

"I love you too. Don’t forget it.”

………………………………………………

  
"C’mon, like you don’t love it."

“Not true."

Rafa tried not to smile, he knew his voice would betray him.

"Of course it’s true. I can see your Playboy face in the photos, and I know that right now you're laughing."

"I do not know why you're wasting your time looking at pictures when you can have the original."

There was a short silence that Rafa took as a good sign; Roger was considering the idea as something possible.

“After dinner?”

“Swiss or Spanish time?”

"Mmmm .... British time.”

"British is like Swiss. But it’s fine. I’ll do it for you.”

Rafa was smiling broadly now. Although they had already set a date, he did not want to end the call. He loved flirting with Roger on the phone, it made him feel like when he was 18 and kissed the ground on which he stood. And it was better knowing that soon he could have him in flesh and blood; not like when they were far from each other and more than exciting, the telephone flirtation could be frustrating.

"Still looking at pictures?"

"Aha ... I keep saying you love it."

Apparently, Roger did not want to end the conversation either.

"Everyone’s eyes on you, there on the court, half naked."

"You know I'm not like that. It’s embarrassing."

"Bollocks!”  

Rafa’s eyes went wide and he let out a good loud laugh. Swearing was unlike Roger.

"C’mon. If you were so embarrassed, it wouldn’t take you 2 long minutes to change shirts in front of thousands of eyes.”

Rafa was about to say something defending himself, but then he noticed a small detail.

"Roger, you measured the time it takes me to change my shirt, no?"

Roger snorted.

"It was an approximation."

Rafa smiled broadly once more.

"No, no. You and your Rolex don’t do approximations.”

Now it was his turn to mess with the Swiss.

“Sooooo,” he said with a funny singing voice. “Roger is looking at me when I get nakeeeed.”

“Roger always looks at you. Especially when you’re getting naked,” he chuckled.

"Then I'm glad the plan is working, because I do it for you."

And he sent a loud kiss through the phone.

Roger laughed wildly.  

At that moment he also felt, perhaps not like a teenager, but like he was still 22 years old and being admired by the hungry eyes - and hungry not only for the titles - of that young Spaniard could get him a rush as great as winning a final.  

Moments when, sometimes, some people even got to ask him if he didn’t get tired of always having _that_ Nadal behind. However, even back then, ignorant as he was about what the future will bring him, Roger already knew that his career, as he knew it, would never be the same again. What he didn’t know was that his life was meant not to be the same again either.

He heard the sound of a voice calling his name.

"Rafa, I gotta go. See you later."

"Yes. Bye."

Rafa held the phone to his chest and looked at the city under his window. He had won his first two games with good feelings, he and Roger were finally back together and, a weird thing for London, the sun was shining hot.

Could he ask for more? Well, yes, winning Wimbledon. But those things were not meant to be thought. Those were forbidden thoughts. The next round is what matters. And before that, his date with Roger.

…………………………….

  
"At what time you have practice tomorrow?" Roger asked while kissing his shoulder, then gently touched his cheek, caressing him like a kitten.

"Early in the morning. You?"

"At noon."

"Too bad we can’t hit together. Although it’s best for you, I wouldn’t want you to get distracted by looking at me. Not good for you, no?”

Rafa raised his eyebrows and looked at him with pretend innocence.

"Oh, yes, Rogelio. You're not the only one looking at pictures, you know? "

Roger felt his face turning red and Rafa burst out laughing. He knew what the Spaniard was talking about. He had also seen those pictures of himself looking at Rafa while training, getting distracted by him.

"Rogelio, are you embarrassed about that and you don’t mind that I see you naked?”

"I stopped being embarrassed of you seeing me naked long ago."

Rafa smiled, "Do you remember the first time? We were so horny, but at the same time it was like... I do not dare to look at you down there.”

Roger laughed, "Speak for yourself. I could not stop looking at you. You were amazing.”

Rafa threw his arm over his eyes.

"Now I'm all scrawny."

Roger stared at him for a few seconds. He knew him well enough to know that, even though he seemed to be joking, the way he was hiding, almost childlike, indicated that it was something he thought for real.

"I think you're really hot."

Rafa sighed and put his arm away, but he brought a finger to his belly and pushed the flesh there.

"Look."

“What?”

"It's not that hard anymore."

“Fuck. Neither is mine.”Roger mimicked him and also touched his own belly. "We are not 20, what do you expect? And yet I’m telling you something, we are _vintage hotties_.”

"Vintage hotties? Sounds like something you just came up with,” said Rafa, but this time at least he was smiling.

"Besides," Roger continued, "do you know what you still have? An amazing ass."

"Is that what you were looking at on the practice?"

Roger laughed,"I looked at all of you. I’ve always said that I love to see you play. It’s not a secret. "

Rafa half sat up and stared at him intensely; just as he did when they saw each other across the net. In fact, his eyes had that glow that used to come together with the thought of _I’m winning this match and the points we’re playing are nothing but a formality._ Roger had been a victim of that gaze.

“Do you think that, as the vintage hotties that we are, could we fuck now?”

“Again?”

Roger laughed, although he had to admit that his cock seemed to find the idea very pleasant. Rafa bent over him and kissed him eagerly, as if he hadn’t had the chance to do it a hundred times during the last hour. And Roger responded with the same intensity.

Because when Rafael Nadal served to win, Roger Federer responded with everything he had to give.

………………………………….

_Montréal_

  
"Are you okay?" Rafa asked, although he was sure that something was wrong; he really asked just to sound polite.

"Sure, I’m fine.”

"We have barely spoken in almost three weeks."

"I've been busy. All the events, interviews. And then taking a rest. You know how it goes.”

“Sure.”

It was the first time they had been together since Wimbledon, and obviously, things were not going as Rafa had expected. They should be kissing. Instead, Roger was mechanically unpacking his suitcase, barely looking at him.

“I took a good rest, too.”

“Yeah. You don’t need to tell me about it.”

Rafa blinked, surprised by the acid tone.

"Excuse me? Does it bother you that I went home? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Roger turned around to face him.

"Oh please. God forbid that I can be bothered by you running back to Mallorca.”

"Running back?" Rafa shook his head in disbelief. “And what I was supposed to do? Make an appointment to have tea with the Queen? Sit in your box with your children on my lap? I don’t know, Roger. Tell me what I should have done.”

"Not give up your match!”

Roger tried to hold his tongue, but it was too late.

Shit. It was not what he meant to say, but the words fell out of his mouth like that and now there was no turning back. He dared to look at Rafa, whose face had shut, like when they were on the court and he raised that wall that separated the outside world from what was going on in his mind.

“Give up my match? Look, Roger. I did very bad two first sets, that I give you, and by the time I could react it was already late, yeah. But I spent five hours on that court, giving everything I had, fighting ‘til I couldn’t breathe. I could have given it away, as you put it, and just go home in the third set with no pain or cramps. I didn’t play a good match, but if you really think that I gave it up…. Then I don’t know what I’m doing here with you, since you don’t really know me at all.”

Roger ran his hand over his face.

"Forgive me. I did not mean that. It's not at all what I think. I just wanted… to hurt you. "

Rafa closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Why? Tell me why you're like this or I'm leaving. "

Roger flopped down on the huge grey couch that occupied the central space of the huge hotel room and massaged his temple.

"I wanted to play the final with you. I wanted that more than anything. You were playing great games. So long away from playing grass and it seemed as if you were doing it daily. I ... I took it for granted, and we must never take anything for granted.”

Rafa took a moment to take his words. A never-ending moment for Roger.

"I wanted to play the final with you too. My expectations were high too. And it was shit to lose. I was fucked too. However, if I know you well, and I think I do…. That’s not the real reason why you’re punishing me.”

“Well, if you were pissed off by losing, it did not take long for you to recover.”

Roger closed his eyes. Shit. He was screwing it up again.

Rafa snorted,"So that's it. What’s bothering you is that I didn’t stay inside the house crying for days. You’re out of your mind.”

"I was having a bad time in London and you ..."

"What?? You were having a bad time in the week of your eighth Wimbledon? Tell me another story, ‘cause I don’t buy that one.”

Now Rafa was starting to get really angry. His face had abandoned all stoicism and was now clearly reflecting his emotions again. Roger could count with his fingers the times he had seen Rafa really get angry at someone; and with the fingers of just one hand the times he had really gotten angry at him. But if he was not more careful, this was going to be another number to add to the list.

"Fuck. Okay. I was not having a bad time. But I was sad. You can believe it or not, but I did not go through it with the same joy that I would have if you had been there; and I’m not talking only about the chance to play the final with you, but also about wanting to spend more days together. It was so short. And while I was there, you were having the time of your life, from what I saw on like a hundred of pictures.”

“So, we’re back to the same page. I should have stayed home not only crying my defeat, but also thinking of what would make you feel better. How selfish of me!”

“It’s not that…”

“Then it’s about damn time that you tell me what really is, cause my patience is wearing thin with you tonight.”

“Grigor!”

There it went. He finally said it. Roger snorted, disgusted with himself.

“Dimitrov?”

“How many more do you know?”

Rafa walked to the window and leaned his forehead on the glass. "I can’t believe this is all out of jealousy. Grigor is my friend. Same as Delpo, or Ferru, or…”

"Yes yes. You have many friends."

"And you do not?"

"Yes, but .... I don’t invite them to spend a whole week not only practicing, but also going out to have dinner, going to the beach, and God knows what else you were doing.”

"No. You only spend the nights with them in a cabin in the middle of the Alps."

They both knew that Rafa was referring to Roger's friendship with Wawrinka and to several occasions when they had both gone out for the weekend, spending it alone in the mountains.

"Stan is a good friend and nothing has ever happened between him and I."

"Perfect. Nothing happened between Grigor and me, either. "

"And López?"

"Feliciano?" Rafa asked, incredulous.

"Marc!"

"What does Marc have to do with all this?"

"Didn’t he kiss you in Brazil?"

Rafa took his hands to his head.

"I can’t believe you're bringing out now something that happened a year ago! We were celebrating a gold medal! It was just a silly thing between us!  You know what? I have to go. I’m starting to get a headache and, frankly, I don’t want to hear you anymore today. If tomorrow you’re back to be the same Roger Federer I’m in love with, you know where to find me.”

Roger did not try to stop him. He had no arguments to do it, and he had already made a big mess for the day.

Rafa tried to calm down on his way to his hotel, which was only two streets further away, but he couldn’t. He was trapped between a mixture of disbelief at what had just happened and fury at the harsh hints (or accusations?) that Roger had just made. It was not like the Swiss to behave like this. He had known Roger for many years and yes, from time to time one of them could fall in a moment of jealousy caused by other players, but the poison in Roger’s words…. There was something else he couldn’t quite put the finger on.

He would have liked to wipe the tortured expression off his face before reaching his room, but it was impossible. As soon as he opened the door, Toni Nadal glanced at him.  
  


"Something wrong?"  

"Had an argument with Roger."

The young man shrugged as he took off his sneakers, trying to pretend it had not been that bad, and it was not worth mentioning.

"Focus, Rafael."

"I'm focused, uncle."

He could not help that his words had a touch of irritation that Toni did not like at all. However, for whatever reason, on that occasion he let it pass and Rafa was able to go to his room without having to hear any speech on the matter.

Only two matches later, Rafa was out of Montreal. Roger made it to the final going through the motions, pretending to be happier than he was actually feeling, and though he finally lost, it didn’t hurt as much as the pain of knowing that the week went by and he hadn’t talked with Rafa again. The Spaniard didn’t even text him the usual _good luck_ message before the final; he had to be really angry, and Roger didn’t blame him.

That stupid argument had taken its toll; he was sure that Rafa’s early exit,  temperamental as he was, was related to it. While on his side, he was more the kind of _not talking about feelings_ type, and he was beginning to suffer from a psychosomatic back pain.

He had to talk to him.

Ideally, he should do it in person. However, there were still two weeks ahead before seeing him again in New York. He couldn’t wait that long. He picked up the phone, searched for his name, and held his breath.

"Hello."

A fast answer. That was good.

"I need to talk with you."

Right to the point. That was the best option.

"And do you think that doing it on the phone is the best way?"

“No, Rafa .... But it is the only one. I will not see you in Cinci, and I think this can’t wait until New York. "

Rafa felt his heart stop for a moment.

"How come you will not be in Cinci? What happened? Are you okay? Rogelio, tell me you're okay. "

Roger could not help but smile at the affectionate nickname that Rafa always used with him. Any discussion, any disagreement, any misunderstanding, everything was left behind when facing the concern that was produced from the prospect of an injury.

"Yes. I'm fine. It's the back, but nothing serious. I want to save myself for the Open, that's all."

"Sure that is all?" Rafa asked, still fearful.

"I promise. I'm calling not only to tell you this, but also because I can’t stand that we're on bad terms."

He could hear a sigh on the other side.

"Me neither. But you were mean to me, and though I am not longer angry, I am still hurt.”

"I…. I'm sorry for everything I said. I know I can’t take it back now, but I want you to know that I don’t think any of those things.”

“And then?”

"I was not angry with you, but with me. And I threw it out like a kid, on the person who deserved it the least."

“But why?"

Roger snorted. Now came the moment of truth.

"I did something in London, when I was celebrating the title, you know. It was a crazy night and ... I ended up kissing someone I should not. "

"Stan?"

"How do you know?"

"I'm a little more than a pretty brunette boy with an ass that won’t quit.” Rafa joked. “But Roger, was all this really just for a kiss? Did something else happen?”

"No, no. I swear. Just that."

"And what did he do?"

"He got angry and told me that I am with you and that he and I are just friends.”

“Nothing to worry about, then!  The hard time you gave me for a simple kiss. You’re so silly.”

"But it was my fault!"

"Did you want to kiss him?"

"No! I mean ... I guess at that moment, yes, because I did. But it was nothing more than a simple stupid drunk kiss…. I missed you.”

“You could have saved me a good headache by telling me this before, you know?”

"I thought you were going to get angry."

“Angrier than when you’re accusing me of giving up on Wimbledon to run to a party?”

"I am sorry. I'm a rat. "

"Rather an idiot."

"You forgive me?"

"When we meet in New York we’ll talk."

"Good luck in Cinci."

"Thank you."

But luck only lasted until the quarterfinals.

Roger covered his face with one hand when he heard the news. That could only mean he was still not forgiven.

…………………………

Usually all the preview sponsor events that surrounded the big tournaments during the year tended to be tedious and repetitive. From time to time, however, Rafa had to admit that he really had fun along with male and female players.

Like that same afternoon, the badminton match with Venus Williams. It had been fun, even when he slipped and ended up on the floor in front of everybody. Him, all suited up, lying there like a clumsy kid. What else could he do except burst out laughing? True, everything was always funnier when Roger was around, but life was good enough without him too.

He had not yet seen him, but he knew that he was at the hotel and that he would meet him as soon as possible. Rafa really wanted to see him, he still felt weird about what had happened between them, but he just wanted to see him and put an end to the whole mess.

Thinking about Roger made him think of Wawrinka. He was not at all worried about what Roger had done; the poor man was mortified enough by a drunk kiss, and he was completely certain that Roger had never felt anything for Stan other than friendship, not even a tiny curiosity. Stan made a good move, however, by  rejecting him and behaving like a gentleman.

Wawrinka had just announced that he would not be in the Open; he would be absent too for the rest of the season due to a knee surgery. Rafa himself knew how hard that was. In the same way that he could perfectly tell where the line is that divided the tennis player from the man that Stan was. The player deserved all his respect, and he truly wished him a good and fast recovery. With the man, however, he had now a pending conversation.

A knock on the door startled him. He practically jumped over a small glass table and ran to the door.

“Rogelio!”

He had to use all his mental strength not to jump on him right there in the middle of the hallway. Roger smiled, he had been nervous about how things would go when they got to see each other, but that welcome made his doubts go away. They quickly closed the door and Rafa was already hugging him tightly against him. Roger hugged him back, one hand on his neck, holding Rafa’s head against his shoulder, his other hand around his waist.

“We have to talk,” Roger murmured.

“Again? No. I think we have talked enough for a while. What you have to do is kiss me.”

And Roger did so. At first his lips just caressing him for a moment, the Spaniard opened his mouth to let his tongue pass and Roger held a sigh as he felt it, then he also opened his mouth letting their tongues meet. They savoured each other for a moment, before the kiss deepened. Roger thought it was wise not to ruin the moment by asking if he was forgiven; he simply carried on kissing Rafa and showing him how much he had missed him and how sorry he was for what happened in Montréal. He felt Rafa moving against his body, and he held him closer while still greedily devouring his mouth. Their hands, eager, began to sneak under their clothes and they started undressing each other, panting and trying not to stop kissing while they walked to the bedroom and stumbled to the bed.

 

 

"I'm so looking forward to tomorrow."

"How come?" asked Roger while softly caressing his shoulder.

Rafa raised his head, which was propped on Roger’schest, and beamed at him.

"It’s Kids’Day!"

Roger smiled.

"True. Sometimes I lose track of the calendar.”

"We always have a good time at Kids’Day."

"That’s true."

“I’ve been thinking. Maybe we can, you know, have fun in the locker room,” Rafa raised his eyebrows in a playful gesture.

"I think I’m too old to have sex in the locker room," Roger laughed and kissed his forehead.

“Oh, Roger. That’s very rude of you. If number 1 is telling you that you have to fuck him in the locker room, that’s what you have to do,” Rafa stated as serious as if he was answering a press question.

Roger looked at him, caught by surprise, and the Spaniard held his gaze for a long moment before bursting out laughing. Roger shook his head in disbelief.

"Sometimes I don’t know how I can put up with you,” he said with a smile.

Rafa laid his head back on his chest and they were both silent for a while.

"Sorry, babe. I have to go."

Gathering all his strength, Roger managed to move away from the warm body of his boyfriend and leave the fluffy big bed. As he put his clothes back on, he watched Rafa stretch out over the sheets, his tanned skin contrasting with the white fabric.

"See you there tomorrow."

"Come ready."

"Rafa." Roger rolled his eyes. "We're not fucking in the locker room."

"Ha! If I got a coin for every time I have heard you say that.”

Roger gave up with a smile. He finished combing his hair with his hands and, with a knee on the mattress, he leaned down to kiss him.

"I love you."

"I love you. See you tomorrow."

……………………………………………

_C’mon… pick up…. Pick up…_

Rafa nervously pressed the phone to his ear.

Co _me on, Roger..._

"Hello?"

"Rogelio!" Rafa almost shouted.

"Tell me."

"I have to see you."

"Something happened?"

Roger was frightened for a second, it was not as if Rafa called him on the phone all the time. Among other things, speaking through the line in English was always more complicated for him, and they still sometimes have miscommunication problems. Texting was always clearer and easier.

"Of course something happened! We have been here for a week now and have barely seen each other. Like yesterday when we crossed path when I finished my match and you were on your way out to play Feli. We are in the same hotel and with so many floors, so many rooms, so many people around all the time… it’s impossible to find a moment for us! Then we have totally different training schedules, and don’t get me started on the fucking bus that takes a lifetime to bring us from here to the court, and it’s even worse if the traffic is bad. Instead of being in New York, it seems we are again in different parts of the world.”

Rafa ended up his speech with heavy voice and, probably, as Roger thought, some adorable pout.

"I know. This tournament is always crazy. I am sorry."

“It's not your fault. You have responsibilities that I do not have, I know. Plus, you love New York. For me, you know it's all… too much. "

Yes, Roger knew that, sometimes, too intense things could overwhelm Rafa a little. Things that for him were exciting such as big events, going to parties, socializing or being the center of attention.

That was another of Rafa's contradictions; constantly surrounded by different people and by the loud Spanish team, constantly having to attend different events and media… Anyone would say that he was an extroverted person who could move around owning the world, walking confidently on and off court; when the truth was he was not really like that.

“What are you proposing?”

"I have a surprise I didn’t tell you before. We have a secret room.”

Roger blinked.

"Who did you ask?

"Charly."

Roger thought for a moment, biting his lip.

"Where are you now?"

"Finishing practice, and you?"

"About to go there."

"See what I mean??"

"Okay, okay ..." Roger smiled. "See you there this afternoon. Send me the number and I’ll text you when I’m ready. "

……………………………………..

At last, after what seemed it like an eternity, they had a chance to enjoy their mutual company. And there they were, lying on the big grey sofa, tangled in each other in a not really comfortable position but not moving anyway.

"Do you really feel like doing nothing?"Roger asked while kissing his boyfriend’s hair, astonished by the fact that the energy ball named Rafa Nadal actually wanted to lie on the couch rather than be generating movement around him.

"Just cuddling. Maybe watch a movie." He raised his head. "Is this okay with you?"

Roger smiled.

“Why wouldn’t it be okay? I’m not with you just to fuck that gorgeous ass.”

He smiled as he felt Rafa hitting him on the shoulder.

"In addition, I also feel like resting. I'm already old. "

"'You're not old!'

Now Rafa gave him a look in which anger flashed for a second, "If you're an old man, then so am I."

"You're still young. And I'm a pervert for taking advantage of you. OR…. Maybe you're a cheeky young man seducing a sugar daddy ... Mmm ... If I think about it, you already did that. "

Now Rafa could not help laughing.

"You are not my sugar daddy now, and you weren’t my sugar daddy back then.”

“But you were, indeed, a cheeky young man."

Talking about the past always was a lot of fun, but it was also true that it was a subject that usually transformed the mood into something bittersweet.

"I'm looking forward to playing the Fedal Cup," Roger confessed, trying to change the subject.

Rafa said nothing, just raised his head again and looked amused.

“The what?”

“The what, what?”

“I guess you wanted to say the Laver Cup.”

“That's what I said."

"No ... You said the Fedal Cup."  Rafa now laughed uncontrollably at Roger's mortified expression. “You better control that subconscious of yours in front of the press, my love.”

They kissed for a moment, languidly and quietly.

"Uh!" Roger protested, feeling some part of Rafa's anatomy that seemed to be waking up. "I thought you wanted a quiet night."

Rafa buried his face in his shoulder.

“Sorry. It's just that you always make me horny. "

"Listen," said the Swiss with a serious voice, while stroking his back. "Tomorrow we have to pass the round of 16. Look at me. I know we can’t make such promises, but…"

Rafa looked him deep in the eyes.

"I know."

Such promises can never be made. In fact, between them, no promises had ever been made. From the very start, their relationship had been based on a bond that brings them together without an exclusive tie to each other. A free mutual choice. Together as long as they both wanted it. No forced tie under the shape of rings or promises.

They didn’t talk about what would happen tomorrow or when they are both retired either; everything would remain the same except for the continuous and exhausting journeys. Each one of them would drive the life they built, knowing that sooner or later they would go back to each other’s arms. Perhaps destined to be always separated, but also knowing that they would always be together. Perhaps knowing that when they were real old men they could send everything to hell and get lost together on some beach. Or maybe not.

But of all the uncertainties that life can bring, the hardest is always how a tennis match will end. Therefore, among the promises that had never been made, there was never asking each other to promise to win a match, not to fall from a tournament, to reach a final.

Rafa tried to lie back on Roger, but he moved aside to sit up from the couch.

"You're leaving?"he tried not to sound sad. This was their life.

Roger looked at him with immense affection.

"No. It’s that this position is not good for my back. In fact, if you can, I’d like to…sleep here tonight.”

Rafa's face lit up like a spark, and Roger could not help but smile broadly. The Spaniard rose quickly and hugged him like a koala.

"I’m playing at noon. I have to get up very early.”

"We'll set the alarm."

"But we can’t have a lazy morning ..."

Roger kissed his neck.

"It’s fine. We're already having a lazy night anyway. "

"True."

Rafa smiled against his skin, and intertwining their hands, they walked together to the bed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
